


I Can't Find My Bluebird

by silbecoo



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12679911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silbecoo/pseuds/silbecoo
Summary: Jim Hopper doesn't have the faintest idea what it really means to be responsible for a teen girl with telekinetic abilities, and he might be in over his head, as Dr. Owens isn't afraid to point out. The idea that he may not be enough for El is painful, but Joyce knows what it's like to feel lost and overwhelmed and push through it. Maybe she can help. (multch)





	1. Chapter 1

Cigarette smoke curled around his fingers, lazily drifting in the stagnant air of the diner. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Police Chief Jim Hopper wasn’t one to mince words, and the soft man sitting across the table from him winced at the sharp tone of the question. 

“Look Chief, it’s in her best interest and you know it.” 

Hopper bristled at Dr. Owens’ tone. The man liked to call him “chief” when he wanted something, a misguided attempt to butter him up. Owens wanted El back, at least temporarily. Some bullshit about studying her abilities so he could help her understand them. He snuffed out the half smoked cigarette, grinding it down into his half eaten ham and egg sandwich. It was a signal that the conversation was over. 

Owens’ expression changed when hopper pushed away from the dingy formica table. He scooted anxiously back in his chair, nearly knocking the damn them over in his haste. The diner had gone eerily quiet, clinking silverware and soft conversation suddenly stopping. Owens dropped his own voice down to a whisper, suddenly aware that whatever he said would be spread across the entire town before he could even get home. “Chief, listen to me, please. I’ve been looking through some of Brenner’s files--” 

Hopper glared at him. “Bringing up that son of a bitch isn’t going to get you anywhere.” 

Owens shook his head in frustration as Hopper turned to leave. Tossing money down on the table he rushed after him. “Jim, please. Brenner was a monster. What he did to those kids…” He opened and closed his mouth like a fish dying on dry land. “It’s… unspeakable, but… there are things in those files that make me think Jane might be a danger to herself and others.” 

They were half way across the parking lot when Hopper stopped, swinging around to face the shorter man. “What do you mean, dangerous? She’s a kid.” 

“The psionic abilities, particularly the telekinesis… they’re tied to her emotions, specifically fear and anger.” 

Hopper jammed his hands down in his pockets. The wind was whipping at them, knifing its way between the buttons of his coat. Early January was almost unbearably cold in Hawkins. This conversation was needling him more than the wind. “Would you get to the god damned point, doc?” 

“She’s a teeanger now, and her emotions are probably all over the place. She faces more challenges than any of the kids she’s going to be around will be prepared to understand. There’ll probably be flashbacks to some of the things Brenner did, she’ll form very strong emotional attachments to the few people she lets in close, and if those attachments are threatened or if she feels unsafe her body’s natural self preservation will kick in.” All his words ran together, barely pausing as he rattled off the dangers, watching hop’s expression closely. “And she’s a skinny thirteen year old girl, her only weapon against perceived threats is the telekinesis. She won’t always be able to control it, things will get broken, people might get hurt, and hurt badly.” 

Hopper could feel his hands balling up into fists in his pockets, his jaw clicking as the muscle there flexed. “Owens, this isn’t some horror movie, Jane isn’t Carrie. She’s not shunned or bullied, she has people who love her.” 

Owens shook his head. “Hopper, you know the kids in this town. It doesn’t matter who she is or who is around her, there will be a time when she’s enraged or terrified, and what happens then?’ 

The memory of glass flying through his cabin flashed through his head, El screaming at the top of her lungs as books and anything else not bolted down flew through the air, doors slamming. What if that happened at school? His throat constricted. The very idea that she might become some thing to be studied stuck in his craw. She didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to have electrodes taped to her head, didn’t deserve to be poked and prodded like some kind of lab animal. But… god, what would happen if she hurt someone, another kid? 

Owen’s saw the shift in Hopper’s demeanor, the slightly far away look in his eyes. The doctor latched onto it. “Ah… it’s already happened hasn’t it?” 

Hopper shook his head. “It’s not what you think. The poor kid… she’d spent a month out in the woods in the winter, trying to survive on barely cooked squirrels and huddling in piles of leaves.” _And that was my fault._ The voice echoed in his head, accusatory, regretful. “Then I basically locked her in my cabin for an entire year trying to keep her safe from the likes of you. She was stir crazy, and I kept… disappointing her… It wasn’t like what you say. Solitary confinement is torture.” 

He couldn’t reconcile Owens’ Carrie-esque predictions with the child he knew. She was just a little girl who smiled up at him sweetly across the dinner table when he made stupid jokes, a child with a silky mop curls that slipped between his fingers when she tucked her head under his arm on the couch while he read to her. He couldn’t imagine the soft expression in her eyes ever turning to sharp rage like it once had. She was his daughter now, not some lab rat. He had to protect her, even from Owens’ well meaning nonsense. He opened his mouth to tell the man to go to hell, but he ended up just staring open-mouthed like an idiot. 

Sighing, Owens reached into his pocket. “I have a new family practice over on Birch street.” He handed Hopper his card. “Call me if something happens. I still think I can help.” 

And with that, the doctor left. Hopper watched, frozen in place, a sense of foreboding curling into this chest like the smoke of his last cigarette. Owens climbed into his sleek car and eased on down the road. Suddenly Hopper didn’t feel the cold anymore, just the little piece of cardstock burning in the palm of his hand. Fuck. 

\- 

Joyce Byers had forgotten what it was like to not worry. The thing that liked to sit on her chest twenty-four/seven had become almost a comforting companion. When she finally woke up one day and it was gone, instead of relief she felt trepidation. The universe wouldn’t simply let her be. It felt too good to be true. 

Will seemed better, happy even. No far away looks or zoning out, no fear creeping along the periphery of his movements. When he smiled these days it was as though light emanated from him, and Joyce always felt her own expression brighten. Sure, he had nightmares. With what he’d gone through it would have been unusual if he didn’t, but even they seemed more manageable. When he woke up in the middle of the night, terror gripping him, sweaty and anxious, it only took a few moments of talking through the horror for him to relax back into normalcy. He assured her, over and over again, that these dreams didn’t feel like the episodes before, that they were dreams and nothing more. She believed him. 

One less thing to worry about right? Except, her body didn’t feel like it was made to be worry free. Tension knotted up her shoulders, and sometimes she held her breath without realizing it, suddenly gasping for air at the strangest times. She was waiting. For what? She didn’t fucking know, but something was bound to happen. It always did. 

She called Don and told him she was sick, the sense of baseless dread making her not want to leave the house. It was a mistake probably. She’d gone through half a pack of smokes in less than three hours. At least at Melvad’s she had busy work, things to keep her from spinning out. Here it as just… utter silence. With the boys at school the house was too quiet. She could hear her own heart beating, the soft rattle of her own breath. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into her driveway. 

Fingers parting the blinds, she peered out across her yard. Hop’s blazer, dull brown matching the dead foliage littering the ground, matching his uniform. He was frowning, not an unusual expression, but worrisome nonetheless. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night of the Snow Ball. She didn’t like leaning on people, and he had been so easy to lean on, easy to need. Boundaries blurred too easily with him, and she’d found herself looking up at him, the stars a twinkling backdrop for his broad silhouette, soft music floating out into the cool night air, wondering what it would be like to really sink into his embrace. Ridiculous romantic bullshit, totally inappropriate, needy even. She was a woman in mourning, sadness etched into her very bones. It had been best to put some distance there. 

But Jim Hopper was rapidly closing that distance in long strides coming toward her front door, serious look on his face enough to shake her out of whatever weird fugue she was in. 

She swung the door open before he could knock on it, unable to hide the concern on her face. “Hop? What is it? The boys--” 

He cut her off, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. Shit, I should have called first. Sorry.” 

He swept his hat off, looking somewhat contrite as he held it in front of him, waiting to be invited it. When did things get so formal? She moved out of the doorway, gesturing for him to follow toward the kitchen. It seemed like the most natural place in her house to have a conversation, and he looked like something was weighing heavily on him. She tried to keep the fluttering of her nerves out of her voice. “Coffee?” 

He nodded, fingering the rim of his hat as he watched her move around the kitchen. “I stopped by Melvad’s earlier and Don said you were sick.” 

She blushed, suddenly feeling like a kid being interrogated by the principle. She sat down across from him at the table, looking down at the steam wafting away from the coffee cups. “I hope you didn’t come all the way out here just to check on me.” Sheepishly she sipped at her coffee. “I’m kind of playing hookie today.” 

His eyes narrowed somewhat, assessing her. Big city detective Hopper deducing that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. It made her shiver. “Are you sure about that Joyce?” 

She ignored his question, cocking her head to the side and doing some assessing of her own. He looked tired, circles under his eyes, facial hair not quite stubble yet not quite a beard. His expression was pinched, brows knitted, jaw clenched a little too tight. Something was bothering him. “Do you want to sit here and have small talk over coffee, or do you want to tell me why you drove all the way out here in the middle of the day, Jim?” 

His gaze jerked away from the reflection in his coffee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I just… I really don’t want to pull you back into this shit again.” 

”Too late now, spill it.” 

”Has Will said anything to you about Ellie doing things that, uh… scare him?” 

”No, why?” She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice, but it peaked through anyway, her pitching rising an octave. 

”I had breakfast with Owens this morning.” 

Joyce frowned. “Is she sick?” 

Hopper sighed in frustration, rubbing one hand down his face. “He’s worried she won’t always be able to control her abilities, that she might hurt someone, you know… if her emotions get too volatile.” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “He seems to think if he studies her, then he can teach her to control it.” 

”Will hasn’t said anything about it, but…” 

”What?” 

”There’s another girl, one that El doesn’t like. Will’s mentioned that she’s been unusually clumsy lately. You don’t think--” 

”Oh hell.” 

”Surely not.” 

”They’re kids, Joyce. Don’t tell me you never wanted to trip someone, tie their shoelaces together, whatever.” 

Joyce cringed. Remembering what it was like to be a jealous teen girl… She could think of a few of her classmates that were lucky she didn’t have telekinetic abilities. “She may not even realize she’s doing it, right?” 

”I don’t know which is worse, honestly.” He groaned in frustration. Picking up his hat, he jammed it back on his head, ready to leave. “I’m so out of my god damned element here. I don’t know the first thing about thirteen year old girls.” 

Joyce followed him to the door, reaching out to grab his arm at the last second. “Maybe I could help. I used to be one, you know, even if it was a hundred years ago.” She gave him a soft smile, wanting to take the pained expression off his face.


	2. Chapter 2

New rules. That’s what they’d agreed on. Her friends could come over a couple times a week. On pretty days she could go outside and enjoy the sun, the sky, the air brushing up against her skin. But there was a border she mustn’t cross, a nearly invisible line of wire strung between trees in a mile radius all around the cabin. And she had to listen. Listen close to the sounds around her, listen for the familiar growl of a vehicle, the crunch of tires on the gravel of the dirt road. She also listened for the silence. The eerie calm when something not-right was going on. The animals always knew, somehow, and they always got real quiet. 

The air inside the cabin was always still, close, too warm. Sometimes it felt like she was breathing her own breath and it made her feel trapped. Hopper said when she felt like that, no matter the weather, no matter the time, she could go out on the porch and breath in the cool sharpness of winter. He told her about his house on the lake, and how when he felt the black hole creeping up on him he would always go and just stare out across the water, the little wavelets lapping at the shoreline easing something tight in his chest. He said they’d go there someday soon, and she knew he was telling the truth, and that soon meant probably six months or so. 

Today her fingers were numb as she stood on the porch, breathing in the cool damp of a foggy winter evening. She should have put on the hat Hopper had bought her, but the thing was too big and dropped down over her eyes if she shifted even slightly. Instead her hair ruffled as a cold gust of wind hit her. It whipped away all the warmth still clinging to her clothes from the inside of the cabin. 

Twilight. A new word she’d learned only a couple days earlier. That time right after sunset when the light was gone but somehow it wasn’t dark anymore. Everything looked a little silvery. She liked it, the way it muted all the colors around her, the way the sun seemed like a memory glowing over the horizon. She was sad she couldn’t see it this evening. The fog was so thick, it looked like a blanket easing down over everything. 

The sound of leaves crunching made her breath catch in her chest, instinctively hushing the sound of her own body so she could listen closely. It didn’t sound like a man, not like the heavy clomping of hiking boots stomping through the woods. Hopper had told her sometimes hunters might pass through, and that she needed to hide immediately if that were the case, but this wasn’t that. This was the soft _rustle rustle rustle_ of a four legged creature starting and stopping as it stumbled through the woods toward her. 

She moved toward the sound, gently traversing the trail leading out to the main road. Halfway to the road, she veered away from the path, listening hard, holding her breath. The sound stopped, as she got closer to it, then started again, this time a frantic scrabbling noise, as if the creature was trying to run away, a loud thump as it collapsed onto the ground. 

Finally, she saw it, struggling in a pile of leaves at the base of a tree. It was a small deer. She recognized it from the dusty paintings hanging on the walls of the cabin. She’d asked Hopper once why there were so many paintings of animals, and he’d told her it was his grandfather’s hunting cabin. And then he’d told her what hunting was, and it had made her cold and sad at the same time. She made him promise not to do it. 

The deer looked up at her, eyes lolling in its head with fear. She could smell the rusty tang of blood, something she was unfortunately too familiar with. There was a trail of it on the ground leading up to the animal’s final resting place, quarter size pools of glistening red liquid, turning a darker hue as the final light begin to melt away. 

Her throat closed up, the overwhelming urge to cry crashing over her as she cautiously approached the animal. It wasn’t a baby, not like Bambi in the cartoon she’d watched. There were no flecks of white in the animal’s fur. It was nearly gray, not tawny like the cartoon. But it’s eyes were soft brown, gentle even though they were glassy with fear. Weak, it tried to get up again as she got closer, but only took two steps before collapsing on the cold ground. 

This time the urge to cry overpowered her, and she felt hot tears splashing against her cheeks, despair coiling in her limbs. It wasn’t fair. Animals were so… good. They didn’t go out of their way to hurt anyone, they didn’t do experiments on their fellow animals, they didn’t kill one another just because. The worst part about living in the woods for that month before Hopper had found her was killing animals to eat. Every time she did it, it felt like someone was stabbing her in the heart, but the twisting paint in her stomach, the lightheaded feeling she got when she didn’t eat… it had been a necessity. 

The ground dipped away, her ankle giving as she stepped into a hole hidden by leaves. A flash of hot pain shot through the joint, and she rolled down beside the dying deer. The animal was too weak to feint away from her, the light in its eyes slowing fading away. On her knees, she crawled toward it, reaching out to touch the velvet ears. They were still warm. 

There were things about her powers she didn’t understand. She traipsed through nothingness to find other people, their inner thoughts, their souls. She could move objects with her mind. It took effort, like lifting weights, like trying to throw a baseball across a field. It wasn’t easy, but she knew what parts of her mind to stretch and pull to make things happen. But there was one thing she couldn’t do. She couldn’t fix things that were broken. She couldn’t stitch together torn skin or ragged blood vessels. When someone died… they were gone forever. 

It didn’t stop her from trying, from taking the bubble of feeling that hovered just around her body and begging it to stretch out and encompass the deer, from sinking every bit of her strength into healing the thing. There was always a tearing sensation when she used her powers, like something was being ripped away from her. It burned in her brain, squeezed at her heart. But she always felt the final satisfaction, the relief, of accomplishing the thing she was putting her mind to. It was like drawing back and arrow and listening to it sing through the air. 

It wasn’t the case this time. She tried and tried, the effort making her dizzy, blood pouring out of her nose and down onto her sweater, until finally everything around her went black, her head dropping down into the pile of leaves beside her. 

\- 

He didn’t know how to be a parent. That’s all Jim Hopper could think as he raced along the dirt road, one hand on the gear stick, the other gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. He was late. He’d tried radioing ahead, but had gotten no response, a curl of worry unfurling in his chest. He’d been stuck responding to a domestic disturbance, talking Jenny Waldorf into finally press charges against her scumbag husband so Hop could throw him in jail for more than a night. By the time he’d slammed the door of his truck and tossed his hat into the passenger seat the clock had already said 5:45. 

It was the one thing he tried not to do, leave her hanging. And here he was, his tires slipping against the gravel as he sped home, excuses ready on the tip of his tongue, the sour taste of an apology already on his lips. It was hard to undo three years of not giving a shit about anyone, not even himself. He’d fallen into patterns, his job the only thing on the planet that mattered, eating like shit, getting home at ungodly hours, dragging himself out of bed at the last possible minute to chain smoke three cigarettes and fly back to work again. 

He rolled up to the cabin, grinding the gears as he downshifted and bounded out of the vehicle. He was half way up to the front steps when he noticed the door was standing wide open. His heart stopped, all the air going out of his lungs. 

“El!” He yelled her name, quickly looking through all the rooms. No response. Flashlight in hand he went back outside, desperately scanning the area around the cabin for any sign of her. His heart was beating hard, too hard. “Jane! El! Where are you!” 

He stopped, willing himself to be calm. Surely she hadn’t run away again. All of her stuff was still scattered around her room, nothing was out of place. Except… her coat wasn’t hanging on the peg by the door where it normally stayed, her scuffed up sneakers were gone too. He tried to calm himself, swinging the beam of his flashlight against the ground in front of the cabin. 

There was no real way to track her at this point, if she’d taken off on her own, and lord he prayed that’s what happened. It was January, the leaves lying all over the place had been there since late fall, both of their feet shuffling them around for the past few months until they were a mess. He felt the panic rising in him again, an acidic bile coming up the back of his throat. But then he heard it, a thin keening noise coming from the woods in front of the cabin. 

He dashed down the trail, yelling her name. It echoed in the darkness, no response. The keening sound had stopped. He felt sick when he saw blood spattered on the leaves beside the trail, turning to follow the the source of the sound. The blood on the leaves was tacky, not quite dry, not quite wet. It smelled like death when he picked up one of the leaves to examine it. His stomach twisted up, anger and fear roiling through him at the idea of someone hurting her. 

The beam of his flashlight caught a flash of soft blue, the puffy stitched down of her winter coat. She was prostrate, one hand swung across something he couldn’t see. The keening noise started up again, this time sounding like the heartbroken cries of a child. He dashed towards her, only to be thrown back on the ground by some invisible barrier. It was like running into a glass door. He grunted with the force of it, trying to catch his breath. 

“El! Honey, please.” He didn’t know what to say. There was no explanation for the strange forcefield, it had to be her. 

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, gasping out a ragged sob when she saw him. She sat up, arms out reaching for him, the alarming sight of blood smeared across her pale face. This time he was a little more cautious, hands out like blind man navigating a strange place. The barrier was gone, and he had El scooped up in his arms in a matter of seconds. Belatedly, he realized she’d been curled up next to a dead deer. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face against his chest to let more tears fall. “I couldn’t save her. She’s gone.” 

“I know, shh, I know.” 

Quietly, he carried her back to the cabin. She was light in his arms, a reminder that she was just a child, even when she tried like hell to act like an adult. Quiet, she didn’t protest when Hopper set her on the kitchen counter, sitting stock still as he moved to clean up her face. There was so much blood, more than he’d ever seen as a result of her using her powers. It worried the hell out of him. She never acted like it hurt her, but something had to be happening in there, blood vessels bursting, tearing, something bad. Suddenly his heart began to race again, just like it did when he thought El had been taken, only this time he’s thinking about Sara, and the mysterious bruises that started popping up, the nosebleeds and unexplained exhaustion. Fear trills through him. They're going to have to sit down and have a serious talk about her powers… hell… he may even have to call Owens. 

“It hurt.” 

The short sentence, so quietly spoken, yanked him violently from his thoughts. “What hurt?” 

“My ankle.” 

He looked down as she tugged at her pant leg. Rolling back the cuff made him feel like an oaf, big and clumsy hands probing the angry purple swelling. “You think you broke anything?” 

She shook her head. 

He didn’t know how to broach the subject of what the hell she was doing out in the woods. The aftershocks of fear still vibrated through him and he was afraid he would start yelling. El wasn’t the only person in the Hopper household who needed to learn to train their body’s reaction to fear. The relief when he’d found her made him feel weak, like he could have collapsed on the ground right there beside her, finally letting out the breath he’d been holding. He swallowed the emotion, finally. “What were you doing out there?” 

She looked up at him, eyes impossibly huge. Shit. That was one way to soften him. He’d have to watch that. “There was a deer.” 

He nodded. “I saw.” 

“And… she was hurt.” 

Again, he nodded, just waiting for her to get it all out. 

“I could feel it.” 

His brows drew together in confusion. “Feel what?” 

El’s face crumpled and she buried it in her hands, her slender shoulders shaking as she cried. “I could feel her dying, and I couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard I tried.” 

He looked down at the washcloth in his hands, at the streaks of blood staining it. “Is that what caused this?” 

She nodded, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I couldn’t--” The words stopped, cut off by her emotions. “And it hurt so bad, like... like...” She struggled to find the words, always difficult when emotions were high, but particularly for her. “... like there was a fire inside of my head.” She looked up at him. “Are you mad?” 

Soft eyes, again. His heart ached for her. “Of course not, hon. I’m…” Now he was the one struggling to find the right thing to say. “I’m scared when you disappear, and I don’t like that you hurt yourself.” Gently, he drew her into a hug. “Just… can you stop using your powers until we know more about them? This shit is going to give me a heart attack.” 

“Heart attack?” 

Mentally he cursed himself. “It’s, um, a thing… I was worried a lot, okay?” 

Quiet for a moment, she finally answered. “I know what a heart attack is, Dustin says it’s bad food that will give you a heart attack. You shouldn’t eat bad food, like… donuts.” 

Softly, he chuckled against her hair. “Okay, okay… no more donuts for me, and no more powers for you until we can see someone about it, deal?” 

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is a Jopper fic, I just have to work my way up to it, plus i love the dad!hopper daughter!Eleven dynamic so much I can't resist deep diving into it. :D Please don't be shy, let me know what you think. Feedback is the biggest fuel for writing honestly.


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